Sprinting from Granny's house, I stopped at the turnoff to the narrow-hilled lane that led up and down to my Aunt Margaret's house.

Resting my hands on my knees, I inhaled great lungsful of replenishing air.

I recovered to a soundtrack of bees buzzing as they hovered over the flora and fauna that framed the lane

The rustlings of wildlife fleeing from my footfall made me wary. I knew that, in time, I'd become accustomed to these noises, but at that moment, they instilled in me a low-level anxiety, which caused me to up my pace.

At the pinnacle, I looked down on the yellow cottage. It looked like a little buttercup floating in a sea of green.

Aunt Margaret was Granny's fifth child. She and her husband Jim lived in this cottage, less than a half-mile from The House in The Hollow – stone-made-twins.

......

A black bundle bounded towards me, barking uproariously, his tail wagging joyously. I scooped him up, "Hello Breifne," were the only words I could manage while trying to avoid his excited licks. I set him down, and knowing his boundaries, he sat respectfully, allowing me to enter the house without any more of his doggy greetings.

"How-a-ya, Gerard," said Aunt Margaret, wiping the laminate cloth that covered the table. I responded with an unenthusiastic, "Hiya," while scanning the tiny room. "Where's our Maria?" I asked.

"How would I know?" she answered curtly.

"She said she was coming to see you."

"Well, I don't see her here, do you?" She put down the wet cloth and looked me over with appraising eyes.

When I didn't respond, she enthused, "Well, tell us, any scandal from over the water?"

"Erm, no – I've gotta go. I need to find Maria and give her a message," I said, heading for the door.

"Wo-wo-wo – hold on ya-wee-pup-ya – what message, from who?" she asked, making a grab for me.

But, being as swift and nimble as a ferret, Aunt Margaret didn't catch me. I respectfully popped my head back through the door, "Sorry, it's a secret," I said, shunting back onto the lane before she had time to throw any more questions at me.

......

By the time I arrived back at Granny's, my t-shirt was wet with sweat. Granny was hanging washing on the line, her head be-decked with neat ridges of rollers, "Is Maria here?" I asked. "Didn't you say she's over in Margaret's?"

"She's not there," I said, trying to keep the lid on my fretting.

"She'll not be far, Son. The farmworkers will be back from dinner; she's probably up there," she said, nonchalantly pegging a vest to the line. 

......

Climbing over the gate, I had a compulsion to return to the lagoon. Looking up at the clear blue sky, I asked, "Where is she, Crow?" But my friend wasn't around to answer or give me comfort and reassurance, so I ran through the woods, hoping to find Maria before she succumbed to some Papal foreseen Prophecy.

......

Maria's dress, strewn across a branch, stopped me dead in my tracks. Nervously, I took it down and forensically examined it for any violent signs: rips, dirt, blood.

Finding nothing, I sprinted for the lagoon, bringing the dress with me.

"Ta for bringing my dress – is someone chasing you?" asked Maria, wading in the water in her underwear.

My chest heaved with relief. 'No.' Moving closer, the sight of her caused my smile to waver, "You've been crying," I said.

"I haven't."

"You have, I can tell, what's up, tell me?" "Nothing's up."

This was my big sister, my confidante and protector – now, our roles reversed.

"Please tell me, I can help you."

She shrugged dismissively, "Nothing's wrong, nothing you needn't bother about."

Her open-ended denial gave me verbal diarrhoea. "Something's up, cos you went all quiet when Dermot was talking about slaughtering – and Granny said you weren't a chatterbox at dinner time – and when Granny showed me her picture of the Pope it had your name on his list of names, and that means it's a message from the Pope that something's happened to you, something secret...something bad – tell me?"

I jumped into the lagoon when her bottom lip began to quiver. "What's happened?"

She wiped her eyes with the back of her wet hand, "Nothing – sometimes I wish Mam was around to talk to, that's all," she said, stifling her tears. She play-smacked my shoulder. "And don't be daft you, my name on the Pope's picture's not a message; your imagination's forever running away with you, Gerard."

"Why do you want me Mam, what's happened? Is it bad?" I repeated, trying not to despair.

"Nothing bad's happened."

"Then, if it's not bad, tell me," I pleaded.

She bobbed down to my level and looked me in the eye, "It's something private."

I stared back, "Promise me on Mam and Dad's life that it's not bad?"

"I promise."

"Will you tell me one day?" I asked, intrigued by my sister's private happening.

"When that day comes, you won't want to know," she said, wading to the edge of the lagoon.

......

After drying off, Maria and I returned to a packed house. Lofty lay on his chaise-longue, fighting his foe. Great Uncle Tommy sat in his chair by the range, ruminating. Uncle Michael (Granny's seventh child), on the chair next to him, waiting. Uncle Peter (Granny's sixth child) was in the scullery shaving. Great Uncle Frankie sat in his chair by the window, snoozing. Granny was in the scullery preparing tea. And on hearing our arrival, Aunt Kathleen bounded downstairs.

There was a Saturday evening air of excitement, which lent her greeting an extra helping of warmth. Aunt Kathleen homed in on Maria, "Your hair's gorgeous that length, and you've got tall. You look all grown up," she said.

Maria responded with uncharacteristic shyness, "Thanks," she said, gently catching Kathleen's sleeve and guiding her towards the stairs, where she whispered something in her ear.

I watched, looking for clues in their stealth-like interactions.

Aunt Kathleen looked towards the scullery and called out, "Mammy, can you come upstairs for a minute." It was said in a tone that all the males in the room seemed to understand, except me. Granny, seemingly knowing this code, skipped up the two steps. The three of them ascended the stairs in conspiratorial silence.

......

Outside, I stared at my legs; only for the red hives, they were almost indistinguishable from the white pebble-dashed wall I sat on. The sight of them made me smile, a smile entirely at odds with how I felt.

Something had changed in Maria. In a mere moment, my sister had altered, entered another realm that I wasn't part of or even allowed to question.

......

I waited on the wall, hoping Maria would come out and talk to me, tell me everything, spill her secrets like she always did.

When she didn't, I felt like I'd lost a part of her.

......

"Caw. Caw. Caw." Crow's call pulled me from my maudlin thoughts and gave me a hit of motivation – I may have lost something in my sister, but I was determined to find something with the tall-man.

Crossing the road, I stepped onto the first rung of the gate and looked up, "Will you be around tomorrow, Crow?"

The "Click. Click," of his 'yes' lifted me from my melancholy.

......

That evening I felt a little better. Partly because I wore my favourite clothes: a green t-shirt with a white horse and the word IRELAND printed on it, blue jeans with a good bit of flare, and brightly polished burgundy shoes with a platform height just on the right side of sensible for the fashionable seven-year-old.

Of course, the overall look was let down by the hair, but I wasn't going to let my cursed curls upset my Saturday night in town.